“Well, what do you have?”
He lists their drinks, taking care to only mention the beer in passing.
“I think I would like some sarsaparilla, please.”
Joseph rushes off to the bar to get her some of the drink.
David leans over and bows his head with his fiancé and mutters a quick prayer. Both say “Amen”. Daintily, she begins eating, though after a few moments she eats with gusto. While the young woman is eating, John explains about Mary Johnston, as well as what Brigit told him about Jeff. At several points during the narrative, Rebekah growls after hearing about the crimes of the young man. John does his best not to smile at the demure woman’s actions.
During John’s narration, Sean returns downstairs, and quietly reports Brigit to be sleeping, and that he’s going to go back to work. John finishes his Guinness and bids the young couple a good night. He waves a good night to both Sean and Laura in the kitchen on his way out the door. As he mounts the stairs, he waves a good night to Joseph as well.
The last thought that goes through his mind is his desperate desire to talk to Liz, to tell her about his new friends and their developing relationships.
Chapter 61
John awakens standing in a field of virgin wheat. The sky is bright blue and the sky is cloudless. As he looks around, he sees Liz running towards him, hair streaming behind her.
She runs up to him and throws herself into his arms with such force, she knocks him off his feet and he lands flat on his back, with her on top of him. She plants kisses all over his neck and face, leaving the warm feeling of her lips on each place she kisses.
John laughs at the sensation and, around the kisses, manages to say, “I love you,” several times.
She stops kissing him after several minutes and sits up on him, straddling him. She smiles a half smile before beginning to undo the buttons of her blouse.
John suddenly finds he can’t move his arms or legs. His hands rest on the top of her thighs. He struggles against his hidden bonds, unable to touch her as he desires.
Liz stops as she sees a shadow come up from behind her. She turns her head and tries to scream as the edge of a blade emerges from the center of her chest.
John stares in horror as Liz turns to look down at him and her blood-stained lips mouth “I love you” before her body topples to the side, pulling free of the blade.
The shadowy figure steps forward and with one hand, picks John up off the ground. Once the figure is no longer blocking the sun, John sees that it is Richard Buchannan.
Richard lifts the blade still in his left hand to his mouth and licks the blood from it. “Mmmh. I DO love that taste. Now that I have taken your woman, I’m gonna take your life, then your soul.”
In the last word, John hears the screams of untold torment, the crackling from the flames of untold heat, and the breaking of untold bones.
Still unable to move, John can only stare in horror as Richard slowly pushes the blade up into his heart, scraping the blade on his breast-bone. John feels the burning slicing sensation as the blade passes through his flesh, his muscle. Seeing the look of horror in John’s face, Richard leers and starts pushing the blade more slowly, increasing the agony of feeling the blade entering John’s body.
Before the darkness takes him, John’s last thought is, I wish I could at least scream.
John wakes, screaming, scratching at his stomach where he can still feel the presence of the blade.
He can hear, on the other side of the wall, what sounds to be screaming followed almost immediately, by a soothing sound, as if someone were singing.
John looks around and, seeing the fiddle-back spider on the wall, staring at him, begins to relax. At least the attack from Richard was only a nightmare after all. Feeling a tickle on his gut, John reaches down to scratch, only to feel a wetness.
He pulls his hand up to his face and in the false dawn light coming into his room, sees blood on his fingers. He jumps up out of bed and goes to the mirror in the room.
In the predawn gloom, John looks at his chest and sees blood there. In just less than a panic, he runs over to the lamp and lights it, then returns to the mirror for a closer inspection.
There, close to the base of his breastbone, are numerous, long, ragged scratches, two of which are actively seeping blood.
John gets a gun rag out of his kit and applies pressure to the wounds for several minutes to staunch the flow. He looks down at the rag. He’s had the blood let out of him a few times, but this is the first time in recent memory he’s done it to himself. He shakes his head.
Why is he dreaming of Richard, now of all times? Maybe hearing Brigit’s story has caused him to, or was there something else?
He’s glad he thought to get undressed for bed, otherwise one of his only shirts would have gotten ruined. He glances out the window and guesses it about an hour to dawn. Having gotten the bleeding to stop, he decides to go ahead and get the day started.
Fifteen minutes later, he’s downstairs, seated in the restaurant, waiting for his coffee, when Rebekah and David come in, hand-in-hand.
John stands as they approach and David helps Rebekah into her chair.
David nods in acknowledgment of John’s presence and says, “Mornin’. How’d ya sleep?”
“I’m tired of not being able to.” John shakes his head as he sits back down. “I wish I knew what was doing this.”
“Well, I’ve been praying for you to find peaceful sleep now for months. Rarely is God’s time our own.”
John says with a disgusted voice, “While I don’t care if you talk to your fairy-tale about me, I don’t want to hear about it.”
David nods in understanding and seats himself. “Already order food?”
John shakes his head, then points at Joseph, who rapidly approaches with a tray containing a pot of coffee, several coffee cups, and cream.
Once the old Irishman sets out the cups, John asks about Brigit’s condition.
“’Tis a fine girl, she is. She ‘as quite tha problem ta work t’hrough, she does. Many a night ‘as tha poor girl woke as she did las’ night.” His face takes on a look of concern. “Did she wake ya?”
John shakes his head, then taps it. “Nope. I have wolves of my own that howl at night.” He looks down at his coffee a moment, drains the steaming cup in one swallow, then rubs his chest a bit. “Last night, their claws were extra sharp, too.”
Joseph, David and Rebekah look at him with matching looks of concern clearly written on their faces.
“Are ya a’right, me boyo?” Joseph asks.
John nods. “Yeah, I think so.”
Unconvinced, Joseph looks at John a moment longer, nods and asks, “So, what kin I get ya?”
After ordering and having a sumptuous breakfast, David and Rebekah say something about needing to go to the telegraph office to send some telegrams, while John runs over to the garrison to check in.
Lt. Guthrie greets John warmly, shaking his hand firmly. “Hello, Marshal. Glad to see we didn’t have to try and hunt you down. What can I do for you?”
“I came out to check in, partly, and to thank Major Arbuckle for sending out your troop several months ago,” John replies in a serious tone.
“Well, you happen to be in luck. The territorial governor sent him back down here to deal with the trial. He’s in the commander’s office right now, receiving a briefing on everything that’s been going on.”
“Capt. Richards anywhere nearby?”
“He’s the one giving the briefing.”
“How much longer do you expect it will be?”
“They’ve been at it more than an hour, so not long, I’d imagine.” He motions to the coffee pot and chair. “You’re more than welcome to some while you wait. Being the duty officer this early in the morning is generally enough to bore me to tears.”
John smiles and steps over to the coffee pot and pours himself a cup. “I do believe I will take you up on that offer. How have things been going around h
ere the last mew months?” He steps over to and seats himself in a chair by the desk.
“Eh. The usual. Random drunk Indians, drunk soldiers, a few people deciding to roll drunks. We have been getting reports that someone is attacking kids out among the Shawnee and Chickasaw.”
John looks at the lieutenant sharply and his eyes narrow. “Do you have any description of the attackers?”
“Mmh. Single attacker. Only the briefest of a description. Big guy, over six foot, white, young, built like a blacksmith.”
“Well, that rules out Jeff Jacobson.” He shakes his head. Trying to picture someone of that description, his mind keeps flashing back to his last nightmare. Looking to give himself enough time to think of someone, he asks, “How do you have that information?”
“We were contacted by a family of Shawnee. Their daughter was killed, but their son hid and escaped. They came to us to report it. Father said he was gonna go on a blood-quest if we didn’t catch the animal that killed his little girl.”
“Sounds like a person I might know of. Richard Buchannan. He fits the description and it sounds like something he would do. That’s part of what I was coming out here to report. We have a girl that’s a witness to some of the stuff he was trying to do. She’s still fairly messed up, but should be able to testify.”
“Mmh. Make sure you mention that to the Major. We can’t make a move without his orders, unless it’s in self-defense.”
John nods. Good old army life. So that means having to convince Arbuckle the manpower is needed to take Richard down. Not that I’m squeamish, but I don’t wanna have to answer to any more charges of excessive force. “So did you guys find someone to take Nancy-boy Croix down to Dallas, as yet?”
The lieutenant shakes his head, going over to the coffee pot and pours himself a cup. “Truth be told, I don’t think we’ve been looking. He’s being held until the trial anyway. Once he gets tried, then we’ll look at extradition down to Texas.” He drains the cup in one swallow. “I get the feeling the major has a few surprises in store for us though.”
John is about to ask what he means, when the door to the lieutenant’s office bangs open and Capt. Richards walks in with an older-looking major.
The major is well built, gray haired, large chops going down the sides of his cheeks, and is florid in the face. His bearing and demeanor remind John strongly of the time he met Custer.
John squares his shoulders and looks the older soldier square in the eye.
Capt. Richards sees John and says, “Oh, good. I’m glad you’re here, John. This,” he motions toward the Major, “is Major Arbuckle. He’s over the cavalry contingents here in Norman and in Oklahoma Station.” He motions toward John. “Major, this is John Cardwell, the Marshal of Denver.”
John steps forward, holding out his hand to shake the Major’s, but the older man crosses his arms and just nods.
“You the one that killed Sgt. Maj. Wilkinson?”
Stunned at the refusal of a handshake, John lets his hand drop and says, “Yes. It was in self-defense. I was cleared of any wrongdoing in the matter.”
“Were there any witnesses?”
“Several. Why this line of questions? This matter was settled some time ago.”
“I want to see the statements by those witnesses, and my reasons for them are just that, mine.”
Capt. Richards nods and motions the major over to a cabinet. “The records are there. We might want to discuss this in private, though, sir.”
The major shakes his head. “No. It is this man’s right to be able to confront his accuser and that is what I am doing, accusing him of murdering a Sergeant Major in the US Army.”
John can’t believe what he’s hearing. “I don’t understand. What do you have against me?”
“My own reasons are their own. I insist to see those records.”
Capt. Richards steps over to the cabinet and removes several files. He lays them out on the tabletop allowing the major to pore over the documents.
Maj. Arbuckle steps over to the desk and reads through each of the reports thoroughly.
Capt. Richards steps over to John and asks, “Did Doc Bakker come out with you?”
John nods. “He and his fiancé came out to start making arrangements for their wedding.”
“Oh? Oh, my. So they finally decided to make it official then, eh?” The twinkle in his eye speaks volumes. His lips twitch to a smile.
“Oh, yeah. She finally shanghai’d him into it. At least, that’s the way it looked from my side when he finally proposed.”
The captain’s smile widens. “I’ll have to make sure I get them something nice as a wedding gift, then.”
“That’s saying the army’s not gonna have her fiancé imprisoned or executed,” John says pointedly looking at the major, indicating his distrust of the Major’s attitude.
The captain motions John away a moment and says in a low voice, “You have nothing to fear about him. I don’t know what his issue is, but we covered our tracks so well, he won’t be able to find fault. Truth will out, you agree?”
John grunts noncommittally. “Think there’ll be any trouble with the trial?”
“There won’t be a trial, per se. There’s gonna be a tribunal. Officially, the area was under martial law.” He shakes his head. “They’re gonna be tried, convicted, then hung, all except Nancy-boy Croix. He’s gonna be extradited down to Texas, where they’ll get to hang him.”
“How do you know this?”
“We’ve already discussed it. That’s what we decided during the meeting. The tribunal is just to make it official, to give them the chance to offer a defense.”
John doesn’t know what to say. This is so cold, so methodical. He just has no words to describe it. Here, he thought, the law would be for the defendant, but no. This is going to basically be murder. Fiercely, John says, “Aren’t they supposed to have adequate representation?”
Richards shakes his head. “Too many witnesses, too much evidence to prove they’re guilty. All the witnesses testified that these prisoners were caught red-handed.” He spreads his hands. “We have to show we’re following the law, but remember, the whole territory is under martial law. I could have authorized all those prisoners be hung right then and there. I have to follow through politically, though.”
John looks at Capt. Richards intently. “So, what you’re telling me is this is going to be a show trial?” he shakes his head. “What’s the difference between killing them out in that field and them being hung here?”
“Out in the field, they are turned into martyrs. Here, they’ve been judged and found guilty. Here, they’re criminals, and are executed as such.”
“I spoke to Blackwolf about this. I don’t want them tried as bald-knobbers. You know as well as I do, they actually aren’t members.”
“I don’t understand. What difference does it make if they aren’t real members?” Capt. Richards asks, with a shrewd expression. “Unless you’re afraid of something else happening?”
“I’m afraid of reprisals. If there’re any false accusations made, we open ourselves up to attacks. I don’t know anyone in the group, but I can tell when someone isn’t.”
Capt. Richards strokes his jaw pensively. “I see your point. Once we get the major’s issues with you wrapped up, I’ll talk to him about it. How do you think we should approach it?”
“Plan on just mentioning they attacked the troop?” John asks tentatively.
“Yeah. Think just leaving out the hoods with horns in the testimony?”
“I don’t see why not.”
Just then, Maj. Arbuckle exclaims, “You have got to be joking. Lieutenant! Who was it that took these statements?”
Lt. Guthrie replies in his deep bass voice, “That would be me, sir. Why?”
“Did you lead any of their statements? What did you ask them?”
“I asked all of them the same question. ‘What did you see or hear?’ That’s all.”
The frown the major gives him
would make a lesser man quail from its intensity. Lt. Guthrie just meets the gaze evenly.
The major says in a stern voice, “I bet you’re gonna say you will testify to that, won’t ya?” When the lieutenant nods, the major demands, “Even if I order to testify differently?”
Once again, Lt. Guthrie nods. “Correct. I will never lie under oath.”
John looks at the major. The man’s expression is one of disbelief. He can’t understand what the man’s interest in this is, but he knows there’s something else going on he can’t quite see. “I’ m not sure why you have all these problems believing that I killed him in self-defense, but I did. Are you going to drop the charges, or not?”
The older man runs a finger down the chop on his right jaw-line. “Considering the sworn statements, I have no choice but to drop the charges. Did he say anything about why he attacked you? It doesn’t say anything here about his last words.”
Not wanting to divulge his part in the war, John shakes his head. “Didn’t say a thing.”
Maj. Arbuckle shakes his head once more in disbelief. “That is so outside the norm for him. I can’t believe he would try to kill someone without just cause.”
“You speak of him as if you knew him well.”
“He was a corporal when I was a lieutenant. We went up through the ranks together in the Seventh Cavalry.”
John groans internally. No wonder this major reminded him of Custer. “That explains a lot. Wish I could tell you why he did it, but I can’t speak for the dead. I can only tell you he tried it and lost in the process.”
Maj. Arbuckle looks at John closely, clearly unconvinced.
John is careful to keep his face as bland as possible, while being so closely scrutinized.
Finally, after several moments, the major crosses his arms and leans back. “So, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”
“My friend and I were ordered to come out for the trial by Judge Logan?”
“I heard the captain telling you there won’t be a trial after all. That being the case, we’ll still want you to testify at the tribunal. You don’t have to stick around for the hangings, if you don’t want to, but you’ll be welcome to stay if you’re of a mind.” His tone of sarcasm is enough to make John’s teeth grind in aggravation.
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